by Pam Uphoff
"Certainly. I recommend you push against a platter-sized piece of ground below and a bit behind your center of gravity."
Finally! Explicit instructions . . . "Which means I'll have to be leaning way forward off the edge of the table."
"Of course."
She formed the airfoil, leaning as she enlarged it, toes on the edge of the table, leaning into the wind and pushing . . . wait . . . quick, a second push . . . a third . . . she lost her concentration on the airfoil . . . looked down . . . Eek! . . . spread her wings and tried to push . . .
Hit the ground, muscle memory producing a parachute knee-bend and roll, as she hastily dropped all spells before she hit something with a shield . . . and stood up. Looked back at the table fifty meters away.
"I can fly!"
Isakson snorted. "Tomorrow we will work on landing."
Chapter Four
1 Yusef 1404 yp
Paris, One World
Qayg looked her up and down. "Grinning? So flying lessons are worth a skinned nose and chin?"
Rael held out her hands, palms up. "As Scar said, a perfect four point landing. What can I do for . . . Oh. Don't tell me. Isakson wants to see you."
"I informed him I was too old for this. Coming up on two centuries. He pointed out that he was thirteen centuries old and to come next week. Xiat says he's called both her and Izzo too. They'll start tomorrow."
Real giggled. "So the only people he's missing from his top ten Martial Arts students are the children? And no doubt Ra'd already knows all of this."
"Indeed. But Isakson says they're busy in their new jobs so he's not going to call them in for extra training. Yet."
"Oooo! I hope he does you guys first, so I've the energy to watch you guys face plant."
Qayg shook her head. "I cannot recall ever before hearing about a bouncy happy Dancer. With luck, the One will decide you're a Warrior. Then the reputation of Dancers can return to that of the sleek deadly lady assassins."
Rael tsked. "What about Bunny?"
Qayg straightened and looked down her nose. "That little girl is not a Dancer!"
"Well . . . All right, but she did just happen to backup everything the Committee did, in a place they never found."
Qayg glowered. "She's a nice little girl, and while she was placed where she was useful, she's had no special training. She was an utter failure as an Assigned Princess."
"And then she was back at the School for two years, then a secretarial program for a year before she was hired on as a clerk at Government House." Rael shrugged. "Not that I have the faintest idea how a clerk could be useful."
Qayg covered her face with her hands. "I really never wanted to ask you this . . . Rael? When you were first assigned to the Presidential guards, what were your orders?"
Rael sat back, no urge to giggle at all. "To disappear. What further orders I might have received had the old Orde been re-elected . . . will forever be unknown. I had nightmares."
"Who do you serve, Rael?"
The One. Except . . . A cold lurch in her stomach.
"I'm not sure, any more. But to answer the unspoken question . . . I suspect that—just like you—if I ever received termination orders for our Orde . . . I would disobey, and protect him with my life from any other agents of the One."
So why did I obey them last month?
What will I do the next time I receive unpalatable orders?
Who do I serve?
"Good. Of course it would probably get both of us killed." Qayg shrugged the matter away. "Right. So once I've been utterly humiliated flapping my arms and trying to fly, I will find a way to haul that nice little girl out to Versalle for some sparring and judge just how much of a sweet little menace the One has slid into our midst. Just in case."
"Please flap. I want to see the expression on Isakson's face." Rael giggled, but her mind was back contemplating Bunny as an assassin. Sproing! Nope. No way. She's a perfect agent for things a clerk can do. Because she is a nice little girl. But I should introduce her to some of the poor lonely bachelors out here.
She smiled sunnily at Qayg. "I'll look her up, next time I'm downtown. Haul her out to Versalle to show her around."
"Excellent. If through some miraculous transformation she has become dangerous . . . we need to know."
Rael snickered. "And I have some distant sort-of relatives flying in tomorrow from Cape Town that Urfa wants tested for reasons he may not be releasing. Should be a fun week." Or a least distract me from navel gazing.
Chapter Five
1 Yusef 1404 yp
Paris, One World
"Aaaaaah! That's the worst one yet! Who chose these vids?" An anonymous voice from the jeering crowd.
The Warriors of the One Vid Marathon.
Nothing quite like Wednesday nights at the Black Horse Barracks.
Izzo glanced around the combination common room/gymnasium/cafeteria and wondered if the theme of tonight's vids had been suggested to twit the budding new warriors, or if one of them had suggested it to twit the majority of the Guards.
Them? Or us?
Izzo glanced at Xiat's profile beside him as she shook her head at the impossible feats of a very unconvincing Warrior, risen from the dead to avenge the murder of his last descendent.
The real world is getting nearly as weird as the movies. He looked the other way, to where Rael was laughing and throwing popcorn at the screen. Or maybe weirder.
"Did the script writers even consider talking to a geneticist?"
Xiat snorted. "And ruin a perfectly ridiculous story?"
"The only Prophets without thousands—tens of thousands—of descendants are the two who died at the Arrival. And since the first generation Warriors were raised in a culture that married young and practiced polygamy, I'll bet there weren't many Warriors who left so few descendants they could be wiped from the genepool. And one of the famous Warriors like Mikel ibn Daiki ibn Thomas? Nope, don't think so."
I wonder if Isakson knew him?
She nodded. "I just hope Rael isn't taking notes and planning on trying every single hokey myth she can find."
Izzo looked back at the screen where 'Mikel the Eye' was plucking out his magic eye and throwing it through the door to scope out the opposition before he charged in to beat the heavily armed Bad Guys with his bare hands.
"That's a scary thought."
"Almost as scary as that pep talk we got from Isakson."
"Pep talk? I'd hate to see what you'd call a hard sell." Izzo shrugged. "Not that I'm turning down the training."
But . . . I'm a One damned bureaucrat. And too busy. He sighed unhappily.
I'm too far down the road of political ambition to become an active agent. Too old to become a Warrior.
I need to finish my business degree. Law School isn't enough. I don't want a PhD in Jurisprudence, and sure as hell not Psychology. So the MBA first, then I'll have to think about a doctorate there . . . Economics might be better . . .
This warrior training will never be more than a hobby, like fencing, for me.
"They should stick to training the young punks. Not old bureaucrats."
Xiat elbowed him. "You're not old." She nodded at the vid screen where one man was beating up fifteen. "Apart from the magic eye bit, what is claimed to be an actual event isn't too impossible, with Speed and a damned good shield."
"And tomorrow morning we get flying lessons. One!" Izzo settled back to watch Mikel shred his way through men, machines, walls, mechanical force fields, more men and the Evil Overlord, who of course turned out to be the last surviving Warrior, who of course turned out to be Alexander the traitor.
Xiat patted her mouth. "Yawn. Poor man's always the Bad Guy."
"Indeed, third time tonight and here we are with a government headed by a powerful pair of Ottoman Clan Withiones, both of them most likely his descendants."
"Meh. If they bow to any historical accuracy at all, they have to have Alexander. He's the only Warrior known to completely reject the
One." Xiat bit her lip.
Izzo shivered a bit. "I think Isakson and Ra'd came pretty damned close. Abbas worries me a bit."
"Traumatized. It's a wonder any of the priests are sane." Her hand slipped down to grab his. "Although they are now saying they will honor refusals."
"But will they continue to do so when most of the boys refuse?" He squeezed her hand back, and knew it had gone sweaty. Two uncles I've never met. Never been allowed to meet. Subsumed into the hive mind at the age of ten. At least the women priests were adults, princesses. Not sure if they're allowed to decline.
Izzo jerked his thoughts back to the climactic, and physically impossible, battle.
Live for today. And tomorrow afternoon, learn how to fly.
Chapter Six
2 Yusef 1404 yp
Paris, One World
"Oh. My. One."
Imde stared at the picture of the two men. He was sitting in the back seat of the little car, hanging over the front seat to see the screen in his twin sister's hands.
"Oscar Harryson and Bran Butcher." Rael glanced at him, his twin sister, back to the road.
What did she think of them as, anyway? Step brother and sister? They'd always known about their "sister," but when they'd finally met her it had been obvious that Aunt Kael had never mentioned them to her.
I understand. Given her position at Exterior, she and Mom couldn't be openly lovers. But it hurt to realize that she hadn't even told her own biodaughter.
"Which one's which?" At least Imde could still speak. Deim was frozen, mouth half open in disbelief as she stared at the picture.
"Harryson's the blond. No problem guessing which one's my father. And Imde? That defective priest gene you've got? It is actually the Comet Fall mage gene."
A mage gene? I'm not a . . . not that I wanted to be a priest, but pretending to be proud of my future status was the only coping mechanism I had. I was a frantic mess until I finally realized, at sixteen, that they weren't ever going to come for me. That's when I checked my records, read the footnotes on the Priest gene.
Defective, it said. So instead of a priest, I was a mutant.
Much worse socially, but they weren't going to come and get me. I'd been braced for so long, I was almost resentful. And I still have nightmare flashbacks at every knock on the door.
Deim twitched. "I'd say something like 'that's impossible' if only that guy wasn't the spitting image of Imde. What is this going to do to my security rating? Am I going to lose my job?"
"No, no. Urfa just wants to know how powerful the combination of Oner and Fallen genes is."
"So we're getting tested? Or trained?"
Deim shot a grin back at him. "Does it feel funny to be on the other side, Professor?"
Yeah, as a matter of fact. Funny-numb-with-shock. "It has been over a decade since I graduated. Probably be good for me. Umm, Rael, Deim got a lot of magic training, but I didn't."
"Just micro manufacturing, really." Deim looked worried. "I hope they don't expect fireworks and miracles."
Imde swallowed. "And I'm a mathematician. I don't do magic at all, let alone the sort of things they show Wolfson doing." I worked hard to not ever do magic. I thought that was why they didn't want me.
Rael giggled. "I don't think learning magic destroys mathematical abilities. Don't worry. We just need some idea of the spread of magic abilities in mixes. I think Urfa's wondering about Xen's kids."
"Oh, they're all, what, about six or seven years old?" Deim handed the screen over the seat to him.
"Yeah. They're sort of spread out over about four months. Safar to Rajab. So they're all seven now."
Was there a wistful tone in her voice? She must be a high enough count to be infertile with nearly every man in the Multiverse. On top of a job that isn't family friendly.
Imde sat back and studied the picture. Taken when they were younger than I am now. Happy, confident . . . One! Harryson looks just like me. Deim too, but I can see mother in her. "These two guys . . . how powerful are they?"
"We don't know. Urfa says Xen said they disappeared under odd circumstances, so they don't even know if they're alive or dead." Rael bit her lip. "I suspect they're quite strong."
Deim eyed her. "Because you are."
"Yeah." Rael giggled. "And I suspect you two are going to be surprised by how powerful you are, once you stop thinking in terms of what is usually expected of a Oner. I certain was."
***
Imde looked around the ornate bedroom in something approaching panic.
I have no magic training, no ability. I'm a failed priest. Please let me go home! I'm a perfectly nice math professor. I have a really nice townhouse, an active social life, keep my anti-fertility shots up-to-date in terror of creating a son who'd grow up with the same doom hanging over his head . . . What am I doing here?
He straightened his shoulders and walked out to the hallway. Rael was talking to a short blond man.
"Ah, and here's one of your fellow students. Professor Imde, this is District Analyst Izzo."
Imde shook hands. The faint flash of power caused by similar magical genes wasn't surprising, with a matching letter. "Student?"
Rael giggled. "Yes. You two have both badly neglected your magical educations. And Deim's was narrowly focused. So we've pulled in a teacher from the Princess School to assess your abilities while running a short training session." Her gaze wandered past his shoulder as Deim walked up to join them. "Deim? Izzo. Now let's go out and meet a gentleman named Isakson. I think you'll find him terrifying."
***
Indeed. Close to two meters of solid aggressive muscle. Gray beard and hair, white kufiyah scarf and green agal band. Imde wasn't brave enough to even raise an eyebrow about it.
Sharp brown eyes ran over him, Deim.
"Heh. Don't bother exercising, do you?" The old man's gaze dropped to Imde's right hand and he snorted. "Prance about with those little toy swords, do you? Doesn't count. Have you taken any martial arts at all?"
Do I have calluses or something? Even wearing a gauntlet?
"Some karate, when we were in school." Deim's voice was even smaller than usual.
Imde nodded. "I haven't kept it up since I left college . . . fifteen years ago." We were pretty good. Kael taught us the basics and coached us occasionally after we started formal lessons. Now? Swimming, surfing . . . enough weightlifting to impress the ladies with my muscles, down on the beach.
The old man curled a lip, and turned to Rael. "Find out how much Speed they have. Princess Teez and Princess Fues should be arriving in an hour."
"Fussy and Tease? Oh we have caught the interest of the School, haven't we?" Rael grinned. "Fussy teaches basic and intermediate magic. Tease is the head of the department. C'mon, let's get you dressed out for some friendly sparring."
"Sparring?" Deim looked around at all the large men pretending they weren't eavesdropping.
Are we that interesting? Do they know about our . . . fathers.
A giggle from Rael. "Don't look so worried. We'll start with a warmup kata, and see how rusty you've gotten."
Izzo jerked his head to the left. "The men's locker room is over here. They've always got plenty of spares.
Indeed. Imde felt awkward in the old soft gi. It's been too long since I took my anxieties out in exercises. In hitting things. In being furious and angry at the universe for my fate . . . and then because I'd never seen another path, so sure I was going to be taken. Castrated. Merged. A priest, when I barely thought about a deity, let alone believed. I only believed in the power of the priests to destroy me. To take my power.
So I never allowed myself to have any.
Never thought of a future.
Math was always easy for me, an obvious path when I realized I was safe. But by then I was classified as weak in magical ability, and never questioned it. Avoided it, as I always had.
I relaxed. I . . . lost the need to go pound a punching bag into submission. Hmm, never got over the 'grab all the sex
you can, while you can' attitude. But the speculative looks from all these princesses are not going to last long, as I get walloped by . . . am I going to spar with Rael?
Oh One! I'm going to be destroyed!
Except a kata came first. Not one he was familiar with, but easy enough to follow along. Then more complex combinations. And more.
"Right. So you two were both really good, up to a decade and a half ago." Rael giggled. "Stop looking so apprehensive. This was mostly to see how careful I need to be. And you're both so stiff that it's going to be difficult to get you to show your Speed."
Izzo had worked—smoothly and easily—along with them. He stretched. "If Imde's been fencing, he'll do Speed."
Deim caught his glance and shook her head. "I'm a techie. Not management track. I don't need to . . . " snicker ". . . prance about with those little toy swords."
"Academia is rife with political power plays." Imde shrugged. "Internal politics, but all the more vicious for being personal. A good fencer has a psychological advantage over the people he regularly trounces."
Rael rolled her eyes and crooked a finger to pull them over to where the guards had been sparring with-and-without lessons. "Deim? Let's have a bit of fun."
"Fun? I hate getting angry!" Deim's voice squeaked, and she looked not at all angry.
"Good. Let's just have a nice little no-Speed match to get you back into the rhythm and response."
Deim huffed, obviously relieved. And bowed with Rael.
Rael bounced in with a friendly tap. Another until Deim relaxed and responded, blocking, a fast strike that Rael blocked . . . then it turned into a beautiful show of snapping quick punches and kicks. Blocks that Rael sometimes pulled too.
Imde winced. Letting Deim get a few strikes in to encourage her . . . but if this is a no-Speed fun match . . . I'd hate to see what Rael calls Speed.
He eyed his sister, working as fast as he'd ever seen, and with no anger at all.